


why you do me like you do

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [9]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, Domestic, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Miscommunication, Misogyny, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Harry agrees to move in with Louis, he fully intends to remain  unbonded, independent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	why you do me like you do

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series and you should start at the beginning ([x](http://archiveofourown.org/works/946132)). 
> 
> Thanks and love to [cheekysstyles](http://cheekysstyles.tumblr.com) for the beta work.

 

Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the subject forever, but he can’t help the unhappy noise he makes when his mother says, “I was talking to Johanna today about looking for an apartment for you and Louis.”

“Mum,” he whines around a bit of toast.

His mum sips her tea and raises an eyebrow. “She thinks we should all meet up in London the day after next. A friend of a friend has a lead on a place that sounds perfect for the two of you.”

They sit in silence for a minute or two before his mum prompts, “Well?”

Harry finishes his toast. Things between him and Louis feel so complicated now that Louis _knows_. And Harry’s not sure how to communicate that to his mum, especially as a number of the complicating factors are sexual in nature. The last thing he wants his mum knowing is how _wet_ Louis can get him.

He scratches his neck and then says, “It’s probably not a good idea for us to move in together anymore. Once I told him I’m an omega he’s been, like, strange.”

His mother sets her tea cup down hard and it sloshes over the sides and onto her fingers. “He didn’t- he hasn’t – babe if he-“ Her voice is at once panicked and harsh.

Harry’s eyes widen at the implication. And it shouldn’t be surprising that she’d jump to such a horrible conclusion. _Everyone_ knows how alphas really feel about omegas, how they’d like to fuck every omega they come into contact with, regardless of feelings or propriety. Omegas just _do things_ to alpha sensibilities. Actually, maybe Harry should be grateful that the thought hadn’t occurred to him, that the other boys, _all_ _alphas_ , are so good to him.

Harry shakes his head. “No, he hasn’t, like, tried to, _um…_ ” As he says it, a bubble of guilt wells up in him. Because, truthfully, Louis has tried to touch him, to knot him even, on several occasions. Granted, Harry had been right there with him, horny as hell and ready to be fucked. Still, in the bright midday sunlight of his mother’s kitchen, Harry cannot believe the danger he’s put himself in.

He thinks back to the bathroom at the recording studio, how hot he’d been, how good Louis’d smelled, how wet he’d gotten, how _right_ Louis’ finger had felt sliding up inside him. He can feel himself flush from the inside out, arousal spiking at the mere memory.

“Darling,” his mum prompts. “If he hasn’t assaulted you, what’s he done?”

“He was really nice,” Harry blurts, flustered and wanting to clarify, needing to defend Louis’ integrity. Louis hasn’t _actually_ done anything wrong and Harry’d hate for his mother to think poorly of him.

“That doesn’t sound like a good reason not to room with him. Quite the opposite. Unless, well, is he not usually nice? I thought you two were quite close.”

Harry thinks of the two of them bundled tightly into one bunk, whispering and giggling against each other’s skin, not quite trying not to wake the other boys. He thinks about Louis pushing him into supply closets and bathroom stalls, reaching into Harry’s pants to pull him off with slow, teasing strokes. He thinks about talking over lunch and dinner with Louis, about making life plans with Louis, about the little monkey key-ring Louis’d given him- for their future shared flat- displayed prominently on his bedside table.

“I don’t want to bond with him, mum,” Harry murmurs.

His mum’s eyebrows draw together. “No one’s saying you have to.” She reaches for his empty toast plate and carries it to the sink.

Over the rush of water, she says, “If I may ask, why _don’t_ you want to bond with him? He seems like such a nice alpha. And you’re obviously very good friends. Does he smell badly to you? Does he not like boys?”

“Mum,” Harry replies, not wanting to answer her questions. They were unfair, really. He shouldn’t feel pressured to bond, not before he was ready. _Nobody_ was pressuring Louis to bond, or Niall or Zayn or Liam.  “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he informs her.

She turns back toward him, hands dripping. “Oh, darling, I _am_ on your side. I want what’s best for you. And, as an omega with a potentially public career, a bondmate, a _husband,_ couldn’t hurt.”

Harry feels tense. Having his mum’s support on this feels _important_. He says, “Nick Grimshaw is doing quite well for himself and he doesn’t have a bondmate.”

The thing is his mum loves Grimmy’s show, listens to it every morning. She’s even raved to Harry about how funny he is, how good he is at his job. _Nick Grimshaw is an excellent example of a successful male omega entertainer_ , she’d told him with a smile and hug, not long after learning Harry’s gender.

Now, instead of agreeing with, Harry she frowns. “Do you think he’s really happy, though? Because I don’t get the feeling he is. And, darling, being happy is so much more important than being a successful performer.”

Harry huffs. “Performing makes me happy, mum.” His voice is pitchy, cracking on the last word. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, so he wanders into the living room where Gemma is watching a rerun of Friends. It’s an episode that focuses heavily on Monica and Chandler, newly bonded and trying to negotiate sex and friendship. Harry doesn’t sit through even five minutes of it before heading upstairs to his room.

~

Lying on his back, staring at his ceiling, Harry can’t stop thinking about his mum’s assessment of Nick. He hadn’t considered that Nick might be unhappy, that Nick might want something more than to be famous and successful and friendly with everyone cool in London, that he might want something that maybe only a mate could provide. Harry opens his computer to research.

He goes for the pictures first. In most of them Nick looks glamorous and smiley, if a little tired. The articles that pop up, though, seem to tell a different story.

Harry’s halfway through a particularly graphic article cataloguing the last five or six alphas to have fucked him when his phone buzzes.

One glance tells him it’s Louis. He waits ten seconds- ten long, deliberate seconds- before giving in and opening it.

_House hunting this week?_

He stares at the screen for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate reply, considering the fit he threw in front of his mother about _not_ wanting to live with Louis. And then, quite unexpectedly, the thought that they might actually become _housemates flatmates roommates_ has Harry’s heart soaring.

He doesn’t know what to make of it all.

While he’s deliberating over his response, another text comes in:

_Miss you. Can wait to live with you._

Almost immediately, Louis corrects:

_Can’t_

Harry sets down his phone. He’s so confused. He and Louis had come _this_ close to, like, _fucking_ fucking. The boys learned Harry’s biggest secret, that he’s an _omega_ , that his sex could destroy any chance they might’ve had at making it. Louis had acted weird as fuck toward him when he’d returned to the group. Now, they haven’t talked for three days. And then... then _this._

Harry hopes it means they’re okay. He hopes it means things can go back to how they were before they started any of the fooling around, any of the sex stuff.

He types back,

_Yeah_

~

Their mums turn the search into something of a production, beginning with a fancy breakfast with a fancy realtor where they talk in detail over the places they’re to visit.

Louis stays close to Harry the whole day. His scent settles around Harry, the spicy aroma so comforting and so familiar it’s alarming. Harry hadn’t realized how close they’d come and when he thinks about the implications of the intensity between them, he grows a little nauseous.  So he stops thinking about it.

In quite a contrast to his usual bossy, opinionated self, Louis stays quiet while Harry and their mums discuss the benefits and costs of each potential flat or house. Actually, aside from several lively, well-rehearsed stories over the meal, clearly meant to illustrate for Harry’s mum how responsible he and Harry are, how ready they are to live on their own, he keeps quiet the whole day.

Each time they turn to ask him his thoughts on this type of stovetop or that size of closet, he defers to Harry.

“If Harry likes it, I love it. If Harry thinks it’s rubbish, I think it’s a shithole.” It’s not that he isn’t genuinely engaged in the search. As far as Harry can tell, he’s incredibly focused, his blue eyes barely ever leaving Harry’s face.

They end up choosing a house with both a great deal of space and a good bit of privacy. The outside walls of the place are thick and scent inhibiting. The realtor explains that the inner walls are not so reliably prohibitive, but- and the woman winks as she relays this bit -if they need the extra insulation, the place comes equipped with a secure basement suite.

Ultimately, this is what sells Harry. He’ll need a comfortable, secluded space, separate from the rest of the house, _from Louis,_ for his heats. Harry’s not sure how much Louis has shared with his mum, but the other three agree without question when he states his desire to settle _here_.

As they walk through a final time, their mums creating a list of all the things they’ll need to furnish the place (even though they _do_ have plans to hire a decorator), Louis nudges the inside of Harry’s wrist with the back of his hand. He catches Louis’ eye, and smiles, warm and happy. Harry realizes that he’s felt happy, sated almost, the entire day. Even now, waves of bone deep satisfaction radiate out from him, capturing Harry, drawing him closer.

He presses his thumb against Harry’s pulsepoint causing Harry’s breath to catch and his dick to twitch. Louis tilts his head and raises a brow. Their mums are just on the other side of a wall, laughing loudly as they evaluate the cupboard space and Harry can’t look away from Louis’ lips.

He’s thought of a million reasons- or at least ten- why carrying on with Louis is a shitty idea, the first and foremost being, well, he likes Louis so damn much. But, well, _he likes Louis so damn much._ So when Louis leans closer still and presses their mouths together in a sweet, dry ghost of a kiss, Harry doesn’t protest or pull away.

Louis slips a hand into Harry’s hair and slides his mouth down so that Harry can feels his lips move against his jaw as he speaks, “You look fantastic. You smell amazing. _Babe.”_

Harry lets his head fall back, exposing his neck because Louis should kiss him there. Maybe bite a little. Or a lot.

“Boys?” It’s Johanna calling from the kitchen. Louis tenses and pulls back, but he doesn’t remove his fingers from where they’re tangled in Harry’s hair.

“Yeah?” Louis’ voice is pitchy, his usual nervous energy reappearing with an edge. Harry desperately wants to sooth him. He wraps an arm around Louis’ waist, drawing him in and slotting their legs together.

“It’s time to head out to dinner.”

“Can we have pizza?” He asks and Harry smiles. Louis’ affected by his scent and, despite the potential for this to lead to _very_ unhealthy diet, Harry likes the evidence that it’s true.

They sit beside one another at dinner and this time it’s Harry who’s quiet while Louis holds court with their mums, story after story, mostly about the other boys and LA and the X Factor. Harry’s not trying to hold back, it’s just that he keeps hearing Louis voice, low and breathy, saying ‘ _Babe’_ over and over again against his skin, and that’s making it difficult to meet his mother’s eyes or follow the conversation.

While they wait for dessert, Louis presses a knuckle into Harry’s thigh and their eyes meet. Harry hopes that maybe this means they’ll make it work, their friendship _and_ the sexy bits. As long as they’re careful, as long as Harry’s hyper aware of heats, they should be able to make the best of it without any real consequences.

Harry’s heart pounds at the thought. It doesn’t stop pounding either, not while they’re finishing up their chocolate mousse, not as they hug goodbye- long and tight, not as he relives each moment of the day in the quiet car ride home. No, it doesn’t even slow until he replies _sleep well_ to Louis’ rambling, happy, goodnight text.

~

The move-in is smooth. The packing and hauling and unpacking is mostly done by professionals. Harry had requested that his clothes and bedding be left alone. He’s nervous about the scents of strange alphas all over his things. He doesn’t have time for a thorough washing before they begin actually, really touring, like a legit band.

So, after they’ve eaten Chinese takeaway for lunch and shooed their mums and sisters home, Harry hurries into his room, eager to spend a quiet evening settling in. Louis’ room shares a wall with his and through thin plaster Harry hears Louis banging about, presumably arranging his furniture and sorting out his things.   

However, when Harry decides he’s finished for the night and comes in to check on Louis’ progress, he sees that Louis appears to have only unpacked his Television and Xbox. Louis is currently consumed by a game of GTA, even though most of the space is still covered in closed-up boxes. Harry plops beside him on the bare mattress and rests his head on Louis’ shoulder, nosing at his neck and soaking up his smell.

“Early meeting tomorrow morning,” Harry murmurs. “Let’s get your bed together, Lou.”

There’s an explosion, a police car, Harry thinks, and Louis says, “Not really tired.”

Louis’s lying. He is definitely tired. Maybe not sleepy, but tired. Harry can feel it. He doesn’t protest, though, doesn’t think it would do him much good. Instead, he hums and watches the game for a few minutes.

When his own eyelids start to droop, he decides it’s time to take action. He’s ready for bed and he doesn’t look forward to being woken up three hours from now because Louis’ incapable of properly tucking in the corners on his sheets.

“Louis,” Harry says. “We need to make your bed.”

Louis doesn’t reply. Harry knows Louis heard him, feels his shoulders tense and his focus flicker. Harry thinks Louis might be engaged in particularly difficult task- he’s clicking a lot of buttons- but Harry’s sleep is much more precious than a video game.

He grabs the remote out of Louis’ hands and pauses the game. “You can finish after.”

Louis turns his head and glares, mouth dropping open. A weird zing of tension pulls tight between the two of them and Louis says, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Harry drops the controller into Louis’ lap, burned. He’s right. Louis is an _alpha_ and, as an omega, it’s more than presumptuous, more than impolite, for Harry to order him about. It’s downright forbidden, practically criminal. Harry doesn’t think he could go to jail for it, not actually, but Louis probably also couldn’t go to jail for punishing him for it, either.

Not that Louis would do something violent in response. He doesn’t think.

But in the silence Louis’ irritation and discomfort lays thick between them and Harry wants rewind the couple minutes to take it back. He knows he should apologize and the ‘sorry’ is on the tip of his tongue.

But it stays there inside him because he’s not sorry for pausing the game or for bossing Louis about, not really. In fact, he’s an excellent _omega_ for doing so. He _could_ have sloughed off to let Louis handle the sheets on his own. He paused Louis’ game because he wanted to _help_ Louis.

Louis eyes remain on his lap where his finger is flicking the controller with increasing agitation. Finally, he says, “It’s fine. You’re right.”

But it’s not fine, not really. Louis doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes as they begin to dig through his things. He hasn’t labeled anything, something both Harry and his mother had asked him to do, and this, along with the fruitless search it causes, serves to further irritate both Harry and Louis.

After five or so minutes of unsuccessful hunting, Louis overturns a tub of what look and smell like dirty clothes.  “I give up. Let me use a set of yours. We’ll find mine tomorrow.”

“No,” Harry tells him, emboldened by smoldering bitterness. Louis stiffens and turns to scowl at him. Harry’s not giving up, yet. And anyway, “Mine won’t fit. I’ve got a smaller mattress than you.”

Louis throws himself back on the bed. “Fuck this shit.” He’s eying his controller and if he picks it up, Harry will surely… walk the hell out of this room.

Louis doesn’t and Harry stays.

He opens another box. It’s filled with papers from the top of Louis’ desk, mostly receipts and wrappings and other assorted rubbish.

“You’re a shit packer.” Harry isn’t looking up, but he feels Louis wince. He should probably stop picking at Louis. He’s an alpha, and, also, maybe more importantly, he’s Harry’s best friend, his _roommate_.

Louis rolls closer to Harry and fuck if he doesn’t smell good. Harry breathes in warm cinnamon and he feels less bitter, less mean.

Louis reaches out and wraps one of Harry’s curls around his finger. “It’s okay if you tell me what to do, sometimes.”

Harry swallows and meets his eyes. He sounds about as unsure as Harry feels, but he nods.

“I, um, yeah, I liked it before, when you were- when I thought you were an alpha, and I like it now, too, so.” His voice is soft, gentle and hesitant, and Harry likes what he’s saying nearly as much as he likes how he’s saying it.  

Harry blinks and tries to think back. He remembers Louis liking it before, but it had felt like a sex thing. Harry hadn’t meant to steal the controller as a sex thing.

He’s not sure what to make of Louis’ comment, so he keeps flipping through the items of the box in front of him. There’s a picture at the bottom of the two of them during bootcamp. It’s just a pixelated computer printout, but Harry picks it up and runs a finger over Louis’ smile.

Mouth close to Harry’s ear, Louis says, “I remember thinking that you were the best person I’d ever smelled. I thought you must have been using a pheromone spray or something. Spent the entire weekend at the bungalow searching for it.”

Harry smirks at Louis, pleased. He likes that Louis’ so affected by him, that Louis’ always been so affected by him.

“Should have figured it out sooner, eh?” His hands have buried themselves deep in Harry’s hair and he’s working on a full out massage. Harry gives up the pretense of searching for the sheets and allows himself to be petted.

Harry feels himself start to harden, the tip of his dick poking up to tent his sweats. He wonders if Louis can tell, if maybe he’d want to get off together. They haven’t exchanged anything aside from the heated kiss Louis’d laid on him when they’d been apartment hunting, not since LA, not since Harry’s heat.

He turns to blink up at Louis, who’s blinking down at him in turn, eyelashes fluttering. He’s very pretty, Harry thinks, for an alpha especially.

Louis gives Harry’s hair a tug and then relaxes his grip entirely. “Let’s sleep in your bed.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees. Louis leans down and presses his lips against Harry’s. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and light, but the intent behind it is clear. Louis’ hands slide to cup the back of Harry’s head and draw him closer.    

~

Louis sits on the counter beside him while Harry brushes his teeth, mimicking the faces that Harry’s making. Harry, feeling sleepy and impatient for more kisses, wants to tell him to stop, but he feels like they might still be on shaky ground.

Louis _said_ he’d liked when Harry bossed him, but, like, _it’s not really right_ , is it? And it’s not something Harry will be able to do to anyone else.

When Harry sets his toothbrush down, Louis picks it up and wets it.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.  

“Brushing my teeth.”

“That’s _my_ toothbrush,” Harry tells him, even though this should be obvious.

Pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek, Louis says, “Sharing is caring, mate.”

Something flutters in Harry’s belly. He thinks about all things they’ve begun to share; a home, a bed, a toothbrush. It’s so much, so fast, and also not nearly enough and entirely too slow.

He watches Louis in the mirror. They’ve brushed teeth and gotten ready for bed beside each other more times than Harry can count. But there’s always been other people around- the other X Factor contestants, the boys, their families. Tonight it’s only them.

Harry feels his cock twitch against the fabric of his boxers. Louis must smell Harry’s arousal because he smirks around his toothbrush. They’ve kissed. Louis wants to sleep in Harry’s bed. They’re obviously going to _do_ something, but Harry’s not sure how much is safe, how much they _can_ do without bonding.  

Harry chews his lip. Louis sets down his toothbrush and fidgets with the collar of his sleep shirt. It’s a plain white tee, but it’s soft and new- one they’d bought on a trip out together after they’d first signed their contracts. Harry moves closer and fingers the edges of the sleeves. Louis’ scent is warm and golden, like his skin and Harry wants to lick him.

“Harry.” Louis’ voice catches. It’s rough and Harry wants to rub it all over his skin till he’s red and raw and covered in Louis. Their eyes meet in the mirror and Harry wonders why they aren’t touching or kissing. Something’s holding them back.

He lunges forward, but Louis catches him and grips his arms, maintaining the space between them. He says, “We have a bed and all night.”

Harry feels himself flush. He’s fully hard now and aching for a little bit of friction, but he nods. Louis smiles and does not let go of his arms. His eyes are fastened on Harry’s neck and Harry’s fingers fly up to touch it.

Louis grabs Harry’s wrist and brings it to his lips, breathing in deeply before peppering it with kisses. “So fucking ready for this, aren’t you, babe?”

Harry nods, throat tight as he allows himself to be led to the bedroom. Louis stops beside the bed and looks around. Harry’s proud of the décor- he’s got two framed pictures of the band aside several other band posters- Coldplay and Robbie Williams and The Stones. The comforter on the bed is new- deep green and luxurious, much nicer than he’s ever had before. In one corner of the room sits his mum’s old record player and box of vintage records. But Louis’ not looking at any of that. His gaze is fixed on Harry’s dresser and the little picture frames atop it- Harry and Gemma and Harry’s dad on a boat, Harry and Gemma climbing a tree, Harry’s mum and Gemma eating ice cream; and finally, in the center, Louis, hair mussed, rolling out of his bunk and grinning up at Harry.

The photo belies intimacy and it’s right there in the center of Harry’s family. Harry realizes what it must look like to Louis and wonders what he’ll say. They’re _not_ family. They haven’t bonded and Harry doesn’t _want_ to, but it probably looks like he’s anticipating being Louis’ mate, like he _expects_ it.

Louis pulls Harry into a rough kiss, more teeth than lip. His hands are wild against Harry’s bare chest, tugging, scratching, leaving a trail of red, hot marks. Louis’ open mouth moves to Harry’s neck and, at first, it’s just wet, wet lips, wet tongue, _wet skin_.  But then he bites and Harry’s whole body arches closer, into his warmth, his scent.

“Louis.” Louis is sucking now and it’s hurts _so good_. But Harry’s lucid enough to know that he has to stop. They’re not a _couple_. They shouldn’t be marking each other, not with any regularity, anyway. People will notice; things will change.

“Louis stop,” Harry repeats.

Louis lifts his head, an unhappy line appearing between his brows. “Harry?”

Harry doesn’t explain, doesn’t know how, really. Instead, he tugs off his boxers and makes his way to the bed. Louis doesn’t follow, eyes still focused on the bruise blooming on Harry’s neck. Harry can feel his confusion and desire battling.

Harry pouts. “Louis.” He wants them both to be naked, fully naked. He wants to see the brown gold hairs on Louis’ chest and thighs. He wants to see Louis’ dick, full and hard and eager for _Harry,_ standing up and out from his soft belly.

Louis shakes himself and pulls his shirt over his head before tackling Harry to his sheets. He’s at it with his teeth again, biting into Harry’s collarbone this time. The burn of it has Harry’s dick leaking and his arse clenching and, for a moment, his mind goes blank, filled with the sting and with cinnamon chocolate.

“Fuck,” Louis murmurs, releasing him. “My knot. I need-”

Instinctively, Harry reaches into Louis’ pants and grips his cock. He feels the bulge at the base and shudders. He can feel himself getting wet and he realizes that they could _do it._

A bite. A knot. _A bond_. Harry’s not technically in heat, so he’s not sure it’d stick, but _they could bond_.

He looks up, wanting to meet Louis’ eyes, to see what he’s thinking, but they’re closed. Louis is letting off waves of anticipation. And he’s smiling, smug, but warm.

Nerves bubble up inside Harry and he thinks, with determination, that this isn’t what he wants. _It isn’t._

And even if it was, he and Louis haven’t even _talked_ about Harry being an omega, not really.

He flips them over and pulls hard at Louis’ cock. Louis whimpers.  Harry moves down his body, pressing a palm against his own aching dick.

He slides Louis’ pants down his thighs and admires his cock for a moment. It’s not very different from Harry’s own, not usually. They’re almost the same size. But Harry doesn’t have a knot and Louis’ tantalizes him. Harry’s arse aches to feel it stretch him and fill him.

Harry takes Louis into his mouth and sucks. Down here Louis’ smell is mustier, richer than anywhere else, and Harry loves it. It’s a scent of Louis’ that is _his_.

Harry flicks his tongue over the head of Louis’ cock and his hips buck. “I want inside, babe, _please_.”

Louis sounds hungry for it, desperate. Harry swallows a little more of him and hums, feeling a little playful and a lot powerful.

Louis hands scramble in the sheets, clutching and grasping, and, as much as Harry likes the urgency of it, he wants those hands on him, roaming his shoulders and pulling his hair.

Almost as if he’s heard Harry’s thoughts, Louis is suddenly grabbing at Harry’s curls, tugging him forward to choke him on his cock. His nails bite into Harry’s scalp as he comes, his seed hot and bitter in Harry’s mouth.

Harry sits up, coughing, come dripping down his chin.  Louis’ still pulsing and spurting, though weaker now, when his eyes open and meet Harry’s.

“Come here.” He motions for Harry to slip in beside him.

They kiss, passing the bitter residue of Louis’ come between them. It’s filthy and delicious. Harry’s still so hard against Louis’ thigh.

He’s just getting into a rhythm with his hips, when Louis’ hand snakes between them and warps around him. Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck and it’s not long before he’s coming, too, painting his chest and Louis’ side with a spray of white.

Louis wipes his hand off on the sheets and covers Harry’s face with kisses.

“I’m so happy with you,” Louis says. His words slur together sleepily, but his sincerity is so clear it’s painful.

“Me, too,” Harry agrees.  

~

When Harry wakes up, Louis is gone. He’s nearby- Harry can hear him in the shower- but he hasn’t waited for Harry. It’s a little disappointing, especially given Harry’s insistent hard on, but his sheets smell like Louis and, covered in his come and sleep sweat, they will for a while.

 _They could sleep together every night_ , Harry realizes suddenly. He hadn’t thought about it before, probably because he wasn’t sure where they stood, and it’s a thrilling idea. Equal parts exciting- they’re going to do it _every night_ \- and terrifying. Though actually maybe more the latter, as he thinks about what it might mean or where it might lead.

Because, the thing is, it cannot lead to _bonding_. Harry doesn’t want to be tied down. He doesn’t want anyone, not even Louis, dictating his choices, _his life_.

They should probably talk. Maybe.

Harry makes his way into the kitchen. The electric kettle is plugged in and half full and the tea is spread out on the counter.  Louis’ been up for a bit, then.

Their mums had done a rather splendid job with unpacking the food and dishes and Harry has no trouble finding the toast or the toaster.

Harry smells Louis, mint soap tinging his scent, and feels him, buoyantly happy, even though his back is turned when he enters the kitchen.

Louis wraps himself around Harry and it’s like being wrapped in sunshine. Harry soaks in the warmth, melting against Louis’ body. Louis meets his gaze, grin turning feral.

“You’re still naked.” It’s true. And while Louis is not quite naked, he’s close enough. He’s wearing a blue silk dressing gown that has to have been his mother’s. It’s smooth beneath Harry’s fingertips as his hands make their downwards for a cheeky arsegrope.  

Louis squeaks out an, “Oh.” Then, in retaliation, he turns to kiss and lick at the bruises on his neck. Harry’s pulse picks up and cock feels suddenly heavier between his legs. He wonders how long they have before their first appointment.

“Love it when you smell like me, babe,” Louis murmurs, lips hot on Harry’s skin.

Harry freezes. “What?”

Louis replies, “Your scent. It’s so much better when it’s mixed with mine. I like that people can tell you’re taken.”

Harry takes steps back, his heart still racing, but no longer in a sexy way. “I’m not taken.” He says slowly.

Louis’ arm wraps more tightly around his waist and he chuckles, rubbing their cheeks together. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Harry is valiantly _not_ distracted by Louis’ stubble. He struggles to step back. “I’m not taken. I’m not _yours._ ”

His voice is firm, and he’s proud of that.

Louis’ eyes narrow. “What?”

Louis confusion is cloudy, stifling, and to cut through it Harry knows he needs to be _very_ direct. He forces the words out, willing Louis to understand. “I don’t want to bond.”

Louis frowns at him, quiet, so quiet.

“Everyone wants to bond.” The unhappy lines on Louis’ forehead are deeper than Harry’s ever seen them and his pain is palpable in the air between them. “What you mean is that you don’t want to bond with me.”

Harry shakes his head. “No.” That is the opposite of true.

Louis backs away from him. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit late to say something? I’ve had my finger up your arse and my knot in your mouth.” He throws up his hands. “We’re living together, for fucks sake!”

Harry winces. He’s not sure what to say. He _likes_ doing things with Louis. He _likes_ the idea of living with Louis. He doesn’t want those things to change. “Yeah,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Louis watches him for a moment. His eyes look like they’re welling up with tears and Harry hates it. He doesn’t want to _hurt_ Louis. “I don’t get it, Harry. You almost let me fuck you during a heat, and then you shut me out and tell Liam you’re not ready to bond. But you still want to move in together and sleep with me? But you don’t even like me like that? Are you _trying_ to be a typical omega tease?”

Harry feels his jaw drop. Louis just. He just- he’s such an arsehole.

“I thought you were different,” Louis continues. “But you’re not, are you?”

“Fuck you,” Harry finds himself shouting.

With as much dignity as possible, Harry stomps out of the kitchen and back into his room. He throws himself onto his bed. Wrapped in Louis’ spicy rich scent, Harry does not cry. _He doesn’t._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ouch, fuck. Sorry. Especially because the next update is a while a way due to commitments such as hl summerfest and my upcoming nuptials ;). 
> 
> See you on the flipside (in mid-July, probably) or on tumblr: [juliusschmidt](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com)
> 
> Title is from 'Baby Love' by the Supremes ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=23UkIkwy5ZM)).


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